


Center of the Universe

by korereapers



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe
Genre: Character Study, Edward Nygma Has OCD, Fuckbuddies to... whatever this is, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mind Games, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, but also softer than it looks, look... it's complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29399535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korereapers/pseuds/korereapers
Summary: Edward Nygma may be fond of those little games of his, but Jonathan? Jonathan is going to take him by surprise and win him at a game that Edward didn’t even know they were playing.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	Center of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> If the war by heaven's gate released desire  
> In the line of fire someone must have known  
> That a human heart demands to be admired  
> Cause in the Center of the Universe  
> We are all alone

As far as research goes, Jonathan Crane has to admit that this is probably his most interesting experiment to date.

When your field of study is psychology, you have to be subtle. Approach the issue without showing your weapons clearly. Call it an occupational hazard, Jonathan approaches every single problem, and every single person, from that point of view.

Being careful doesn’t mean that he cannot have a bit of fun, though. He finds the process as amusing as the result, if not more.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about the subject, far from it. Or that he has malicious intentions, God forbid. He at least  _ respects  _ Edward, who doesn’t look bad at all kneeling between his legs, eyes way too clever, trying to understand the puzzle that Jonathan is, without truly knowing that there is actually nothing to understand. Unlike Edward himself, Jonathan just is what he is. Nothing more, nothing less.

There is something left unsaid while Edward unbuttons his pants, and that does surprise him, because Edward is widely known for his inability to keep his mouth shut even when it would be safer to do so. He also doesn’t seem to know any shame, but whatever it is, Jonathan will get to it. Always has, always will.

They have been sharing a cell for months now. It was… not pleasant at first, but they have gotten used to it by now. Both the company and the conversation. The guards were tired of Nygma getting bored trying to escape yet again, or of him getting into a fight because of his inability of having just a little of humility and self preservation. They were scared of Crane getting tired of his cellmate and finding a way of either dosing them or making them wish they were overdosed.

Putting them together had been a high bet for the staff. And strangely enough, it worked. It worked way too well, given that the Riddler is currently unbuttoning his pants for the umpteenth time, kneeling before his legs, breathing heavily but without even a hint of reverence.

The Riddler always believes that he runs the show, and Jonathan is not going to tell him otherwise. Edward had taken the top bunk, and Jonathan not only hadn’t complained, he had said nothing about it. Let the manchild play his little mind game, let him believe that he is winning.

Edward Nygma may be fond of those little games of his, but Jonathan? Jonathan is going to take him by surprise and win him at a game that Edward didn’t even know they were playing.

He likes Edward. He really does. Maybe not like most people like other people, but neither of them is really a regular human being. He thinks Edward is clever, more than he would admit out loud, not desiring to feed that fragile ego that always seems to be craving more. He finds him attractive, even like this, with his dark roots showing because of how difficult it is sometimes to find just the shade of orange he prefers even when he manages to smuggle it in, hair thinning slightly even after what Jonathan suspects have been many hair transplants. His eyes are unfocused and a regular blue, far from his shiny green contact lenses, vehemently refusing to wear glasses for something like this.

Typical of him.

Edward Nygma prefers his vanity to actually being able to see, just because he wants to look his best while giving a blowjob. It’s amusing, Jonathan thinks, to say the least.

He purses his lips when Edward licks his own in anticipation, and Jonathan has observed many, many people during the years, but he still finds it mesmerizing, to see how Edward savors the moment, the seconds before touching him, blue eyes shining, a slight hum leaving his lips when Jonathan caresses his hair without thinking.

_ He is beautiful _ , he thinks, and Edward actually has the gall to smile, a big, toothy grin, as if he knew.

_ What a bastard _ .

“Anything you want to say, Crane? I’m all ears.”

Two can play at that game, though.

“No, not at all.”

It’s almost funny, really. How Edward gets all riled up, so bothered by his refusal to give him what he wants that he actually  _ blushes  _ in rage. Jonathan knows him, though. That only means that he will work  _ harder  _ for the praise.

“As you wish.” Edward answers, trying to feign indifference, and failing miserably at it. He shrugs, but the fire on his eyes betrays him. As fiery as nearsighted eyes can be, that is. Jonathan instinctively moves his own glasses up his nose, its crooked shape always having made it difficult to keep them in place.

He still isn’t really that fond of contacts, to be completely honest.

Jonathan is aware of what they say about him. It’s nothing new, to be completely fair. His hair could use a proper haircut even before getting imprisoned, and his features are nothing to be proud of. A nose way too big, broken so many times since childhood. Eyes that used to be a plain blue and now shine with the bright orange of his fear toxin. A long face, thin lips. Long limbs, severely underweight. Taller than many, looking even more menacing when he is wearing his costume.

_ It’s like hitting a scarecrow _ . his tormentors used to say.

_ Thank God I don’t look like that. _ was what random people have mentioned about him for as long as he can remember.

He has embraced his own ugliness, and yet…

Edward is looking at him like that again. Trying to decipher him, to know what he is thinking. Jonathan stares back, almost smiling, slightly amused. And then, he has an impulse. A theory he has to prove.

“Edward,” he starts, his voice calm, like when he dealt with his patients. Old habits die hard, he supposes. “It can’t be comfortable, kneeling like that.”

And God, the reaction is immediate.

Blue eyes wide, his expression frozen. The Riddler is speechless, the tip of his ears getting a little pink.  _ Bingo _ .

“That’s… that’s awfully thoughtful of you.” Edward answers, his voice sounding strangely doubtful.

Jonathan smiles sincerely at that. The gesture is small, but still visible for anyone who is looking. Not Edward, maybe, since he is not wearing his glasses and he can probably just imagine what Jonathan’s face looks like at the moment.

“But?”

“But I am enjoying myself quite nicely, thank you.”

Prideful as ever, a part of Edward seems to be wary of genuine care and support, as much as he craves them in a way.

“ _ You _ are enjoying yourself?” Jonathan asks, amusement adorning his voice.

“When I see the blissful look on your face because of my impeccable skills?” Edward answers, almost offended at the question, a pout on his face, but not for long. He pulls Jonathan’s pants down, smiling like a child on Christmas day when he realises that Jon is already half hard. “I really think so.”

“Maybe if you put on some glasses…”

“Goddamnit, Crane. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Jonathan almost chuckles at that. Almost.

He is an interesting one, the Riddler. His life story is known by many, and it’s sadly nothing out of the usual. A genuinely smart kid, a little weird by common standards. Disliked by his classmates and teachers because he was just a little bit too intelligent. Beaten to a pulp by his drunk father because the old bastard would rather believe that his son was just an idiot, cheating on everything he did, instead of a clever young man with many, many talents. The man probably felt threatened by his own child, so much that he had to keep feeding his own ego, and unknowingly doing the same to Edward’s in return.

He wonders if the old man is still alive, or if Edward is still so genuinely scared of him that he never dared to even approach him. Jonathan doesn’t need his fear toxin to know what an egomaniac’s biggest fear is. And to be honest, he doesn’t know a degree in psychology to know what Edward desires the most.

So he lets him take the initiative, knowing he has already won. Because Edward may be a genius, but Jonathan? Jonathan is genuinely good at knowing when and where to strike. How to make him cry, how to make him melt.

How to render him speechless.

Because if anyone thought that the Riddler would just shut up and be quiet while his mouth is busy, they’re sorely mistaken.

He breathes hard, pupils dilated while looking at Jonathan, slowly taking him in his hand without a second thought. Jonathan raises an eyebrow, expectantly, inspecting Edward’s gleeful expression as he kisses Jonathan’s inner thigh.

_ That’s… unexpected _ , he thinks, his whole body tensing at the contact. They usually go straight to the point, quick and easy, useful to get rid of pent up stress, and then going straight to their respective beds when they’re done.

It’s really easier that way. They’re cruel men with no actual attachments. Jonathan had crushes, yes, before he became the Scarecrow, but none of them really reciprocated. Every physical touch he has given and gotten was unloving, almost mechanical. Gestures like this feel alien to him. Too close. Too intimate.

The Riddler seems to be in a mood today, though. Not that he is going to complain, with that skillful mouth of his sucking on his skin, way too delicately for men who saw hell and came back being demons themselves. Not with how Edward’s slender hand touches him, with the right amount of pressure, slowly, way too slowly.

Jonathan sighs, and he can feel a smile against his skin, genuinely delighted that Jonathan is pleased with him.

_ So that’s what this is about _ .

He doesn’t have to look at Edward to know his intentions, his breath getting uneven because of how excited he is. He is even more excited than Jonathan himself, which would be endearing if Edward wasn’t Edward, and Jonathan wasn’t Jonathan, of course. He feels Edward’s mouth seconds before it touches him again, his mouth slowly licking upwards, trailing his balls while he keeps pumping him with a patience he doesn’t possess. It’s only a matter of time, Jonathan knows that much. He knows Edward better than Edward knows himself, which isn’t a feat on itself, but is still a win for him.

And then, like that, Edward stops.

Jonathan knows this game. He is not the only one who loves getting emotional reactions from other people, and the Riddler is known for how much he  _ needs  _ to be in control. He is ritualistic, compulsive, methodical in his work, and incredibly obsessive. Jonathan was a psychology professor for years, and had his own office for some time, but he would have to be blind not to be able to discern the patterns. Why the Riddler always loses to the Bat. Why he always  _ has  _ to use riddles when committing a crime, warning everyone about what he is about to do, trying to get all the attention he can. Why he is so obsessed with cheaters, and being the smartest man in the room. Why he takes the hard way, misplacing his efforts, doing the wrong thing because it is, in fact, easier for  _ him _ . Why he puts Jonathan’s hand on his neck, like a prisoner on death row handing an axe to his own executioner.

Control doesn’t always look clean, pretty, and tidy. Sometimes it’s repeating the patterns that hurt you. A never ending cycle of self sabotage. Begging for someone to choke you, literally or metaphorically, because not so deep down you think it’s the only thing you can take.

And God knows that Jonathan Crane is a known sadist, but he is no fucking abuser.

So he moves his hand to Edward’s nape, tugging his hair slightly, hard enough to make him hiss, but not enough to cause any real pain. He pulls Edward closer to his groin, almost gently. It seems to do the trick just fine.

Jonathan knows the type. They get off to pain, just to get grounded, just to feel something, to feel safe. He knows what they really want, though, what they really crave.

That, Jonathan can give him. He can be dominant, he can make him feel safe and wanted. He can ground him and make him melt. He absolutely refuses to become like the bullies he used to hate as a kid.

“You always do that.” Edward whines, his voice high pitched. Like a kid throwing a tantrum.

Jonathan doesn’t answer. He won’t let Edward win against him in such an insulting way. No emotional response, not in the way that Edward expects it. He caresses Edward’s hair, his spider like fingers playing with his half dyed locks. Edward makes a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, and he goes back to work.

His breath shakes against Jonathan’s erection, tortuously slow, but Jonathan doesn’t push him. He lets him be, lets him savor the moment, like a rockstar just before the song starts. And like it happens with rockstars, the wait is always worth it.

Jonathan tries his hardest not to moan when Edward starts sucking on him without warning. The warmth becomes heat, and the hand on Edward’s back trembles traitorously. Blue eyes look at his face, squinting slightly, and Jonathan feels tempted to laugh.

To be honest, he has never seen anyone get this enthusiastic about giving head. Not like Edward is. Not to the point of forgetting to breathe, of being focused on each and every movement that Jonathan does. Starved for each and every drop of feedback and attention. Edward’s inner cheek feels soft against his sensitive skin, his hand teasing him where his tongue cannot reach. Edward is hungry, and he is hungry for him. For him, only for him. Wanting his attention, his approval. His praise.

The thought makes him feel strange.

“Breathe.” Jonathan reminds him in his warm but commanding therapist voice, albeit wavering, and Edward basically moans against his erection. He obeys, his breath sounding way too ragged when he stops for a couple of seconds, slowly masturbating him as if he was scared of Jonathan losing interest. Of not having his attention, even if only for a second.

“What do you think, Crane?” Edward asks, his smile faltering a little, his voice hoarse with strain. He looks like a mess, his hair disheveled and his chin wet. He sounds desperate, for approval, for attention. For care.

Jonathan tries not to think too hard about it.

“I think,” Jonathan starts, his lips curling in a devilish grin. “That you are going to have to try harder.”

Edward groans in frustration, mere seconds before resuming his work. His movements are almost furious as he focuses on the tip, licking and sucking on it like it’s candy. Jonathan had never understood people with an oral fixation, but he kind of gets it now. This time, he does moan, trying his hardest not to move, not to let Edward think that he has the upper hand.

Not so desperate times call for not so desperate measures. He just enjoys it, is enjoying it so much that it would be a  _ crime  _ not to do it. That’s why he drops the bomb, gleeful even before Edward manages to react.

“That’s… that’s amazing, Edward.  _ Amazing _ .”

And Edward fucking  _ stops,  _ as if Jonathan had flipped a switch. He gets rigid, like an automat, not breathing for a second. Jonathan caresses his hair, and then his cheek. Waiting, patiently, until Edward sighs and closes his eyes, both excited and relieved, his pupils dilated when he opens his eyes slightly, his movements clumsier, less calculated. He takes Jonathan in his mouth slowly, panting, his hand shaking a little. Jonathan wonders if he could make him come just like this, praising him until Edward came undone, moaning his name while he sucks him off.

He is not  _ that  _ cruel, though.

“Touch yourself for me, Edward.” he says, loud and clear. It sounds awfully like an order, and the Riddler hates to be ordered around, but not only he doesn’t protest, but outright shivers at Jonathan’s words.

Jonathan hears a zipper, and a clumsy friction against the asylum’s clothes. Edward moans against him, and this time, Jonathan does smile. Not cold, or cruel. Just out of enjoyment, genuine and healthy fun.

“That’s it. You’re doing a great job,” he murmurs, his insides tingling at the sensation. “Don’t make yourself come though. Only  _ I  _ get to do that.”

Edward makes a weak sound, and Jonathan’s chest burns, the sound going straight to his erection. It won’t take long, he knows that much. He also knows how much Edward despises it when he comes on his face. It happened once, accidentally, and the man threw a tantrum so disproportionate and dramatic that Jonathan had to try his best not to laugh.

So he does the only rational thing.

“Edward,” he mumbles after a deep, shaky sigh. “You’re doing perfectly but I don’t really… ah, I don’t really wanna ruin that pretty face of yours.”

Okay, he really didn’t think that through. It’s a spur of the moment, he is way too hard and not thinking straight, mainly because his brain is not getting enough blood to work properly. He almost swears that his accent got more noticeable, and while he has never been ashamed of it, he does his best to conceal it. But damn if that doesn’t make Edward almost squirm in pleasure, looking at him with actual reverence for once.

“Ruin me, then.” he groans against Jonathan’s sensitive skin, and then engulfing him in the warmth of his mouth.

After that, the world becomes a little bit too blurry. He can feel Edward’s soft lips, his dexterous hand. The roof of his mouth, and then the back. A wet tongue tasting him desperately, like he is some kind of dessert that Edward cannot get enough of.

He feels Edward’s smile against his skin, and just like that, he is coming, harder than he can remember, legs trembling like he’s a newborn deer and not the Master of Fear who plagues Gotham’s nightmares.

_ Holy shit. _

He hears Edward swallow, and then a hum of contentment, like Edward has gotten the best compliment in the world, his most desired prize. He admitted it that much, back in the day. He only wants the attention, and God if Jonathan hasn’t given him all the attention he could want.

Jonathan smiles weakly at the thought. Time to overindulge the man, then.

“Damn. My legs fucking hurt.”

Jonathan snorts, looking at him with amusement, a raised eyebrow and a relaxed smile.

“I told you so. But you refused to listen.”

Edward smiles back, his blue eyes shining with pride.

“I didn’t really hear a single complaint back there, Doctor Crane.”

Jonathan gestures him to get up, hands on his sides because Edward’s legs seem to be shaking even more than his own.

“Oh, you heard enough, alright,” he says after Edward manages to sit besides him, not crossing his legs as usual. They must cramp a whole lot, then. Jonathan puts a hand on Edward’s thigh, massaging it slowly in a silent reward, earning a soft sigh in return. “I guess it’s my time to hear you, isn’t it?”

Edward’s breath hitches, his eyes on him as Jonathan calmly moves to clean his fogged up glasses, a small smile on his face.

He’s still looking at Jonathan when he is done, and the smile becomes wider as he puts his glasses on.

“Now be a good boy and lie down for me, will you?”

Edward obeys almost immediately, perking up at his words, and Jonathan lets him breathe for a couple of seconds before getting closer to him again. He inspects his work with thorough eyes, the messy hair, reddened lips, wet chin. Blue eyes desperate and unfocused, like a junkie waiting for his next fix. Blushing from his neck to his hairline, so ready for him, so eager. So hard against his unbuttoned pants that it has to be painful.

It’s Jonathan’s time to lick his lips, the sight absolutely mesmerizing. Edward’s eyes hungrily follow its trail, and Jonathan represses a thought that’s way too gentle, way too sweet.

A thought a man like him is not allowed to have.

“You look gorgeous like that, Edward.” he says instead, and he is not lying, but it’s not quite what he wanted to convey, either. Nor what he wants to do.

It does earn him a sweet pant from Edward, and he doesn’t have to be touching him to know that his erection is almost twitching at the compliment. He wants to touch, but he can’t. Not yet.

He lies by Edward’s side, a light feeling in his chest when Edward looks at him  _ like that _ again. For a couple of seconds, Edward seems to be lost in Jonathan’s features, finally able to see him a little closer.

The thought makes his mind go blank.

Jonathan looks at him in the eye when he speaks. He savors every word, knowing that they feel sweeter than honey in Edward’s mind.

“I want you to do something for me, darlin’,” he starts, his voice calm on the surface, the betrayal of something more feeling way too gentle for him to acknowledge it out loud. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes.  _ Fuck _ . Yes,” Edward whines, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps, his throat probably a little sore. “Anything.”

Jonathan smiles, his breath labored, exhaling from his nostrils to try to calm himself down.

“Touch yourself for me, Edward,” he murmurs, dangerously close to Edward’s face, almost feeling Edward’s breath on his own. “Let me watch you this time.”

Edward makes a noise, something between a huff and a grunt, and Jonathan knows that he is close, even without Jonathan having touched him. The thought sends a spark to his own body, and keeping calm is honestly becoming an herculean feat.

“Same rule?” Edward asks, so desperate it’s almost cute, biting his lip nervously.

“Can you do that for me?”

He only gets a nod, but Jonathan knows that Edward will keep his word. That he will do anything to get Jonathan’s praise, his approval. Jonathan helps him with his pants, pulling them down to the knee, his hand on Edward’s shaking one for a little too long.

It’s not a secret to anyone that Edward is a dramatic one. Even for something as simple as masturbating, Jonathan finds his focused expression mesmerizing, his hand moving slowly, visibly trembling. The sounds he makes, knowing that he is being watched intently. He puts on a show, and he knows how to do it well. Jonathan wants to relieve him, but he also wishes the moment lasted forever. Just the slightly wet sound of Edward touching himself, his soft sighs and whines, the way he looks at Jonathan and the little shit dares to  _ smile  _ when he finds him looking back.

Because honestly, Jonathan doesn’t even know where to look at times, Edward’s expression as interesting as what’s going on between his legs, his movements downright hypnotizing, his face flushed, sweaty and a complete mess.

Who knew that narcissistic, obsessive-compulsive genius Edward Nygma would be so eager to lose control like this, to let someone like him talk to him like this, to actually  _ get off _ to his words. Jonathan is used to people shaking in fear when he speaks, not in pleasure or arousal. He finds that he likes the feeling more than he would be willing to admit out loud.

He wants more of it. Much,  _ much  _ more.

He holds Edward’s wrist without thinking, firm and decisive. Edward looks at him in surprise, and Jonathan almost smiles in response. He knows that his strength is deceptive, looking so thin, almost frail, but he is used to farm work, and if anything, it was physically exerting. Against Edward, who loathes physical work, he doesn’t really have to try to restrain him.

“You did an amazing job, but I want to touch you, too.”

Edward says something, something that could be a yes, but that sounds way too low, too much like a relieved sigh to be considered a proper word. Jonathan presses a thumb to his lips, and Edward accepts it eagerly.

Jonathan loves it.

He also loves the way Edward pulsates against his palm, like he is dying to be touched by him. How he looks at Jonathan, softly biting Jonathan’s finger in pure desperation. How he almost  _ sobs  _ when Jonathan moves his hand, slow and steady.

“Please… Jon… God,  _ Jon _ … please…”

And just like that, Jonathan’s mind goes blank.

He moves without thinking, after what sounds like a guttural moan. Nobody has called him by his name in ages. It’s either Crane, Professor Crane, Doctor Crane, or the Scarecrow. Not Jonathan, and definitely not  _ Jon _ . He wants to drink the name from Edward’s lips, and just like that, he does.

They don’t kiss. It was an unspoken rule, not to kiss, not to make it personal, not to let it become  _ soft _ . And  _ God _ , Edward freezes for a moment, which actually makes Jonathan  _ scared _ , but he is kissing him back in a second, moaning his name against his lips, letting Jonathan claim his tongue as his, because that’s his name Edward is saying, and it belongs to him. His hand moves a little quicker, and the sound that Edward makes  _ almost  _ makes Jonathan doubt his own sanity.

“Jon…  _ please…  _ Jon…”

Jonathan smiles against his lips.

“I was gonna make you beg for it, you know.”

There is actual rage in Edward’s blue eyes, but it quickly dissipates when Jonathan kisses him again. Edward’s hands are on his cheeks, and then on his hair, and Jonathan actually shivers at the touch.

“Jon… please, you’re killing me. I’m… I’m going to die if you…  _ God _ .”

Jonathan hums, delighted.

“That’s nice of you, Edward. But,” he says, punctuating every word, wanting to make sure that he is being understood. “I can’t do it if you don’t tell me exactly what you need.”

Edward’s breath feels weak against his own, but Jonathan has never been good at having mercy. That’s  _ precisely  _ when he knows that he has to do his worst.

“Please… Jon, please. Just… let me come. I’ll do  _ anything _ , I-”

“You don’t have to,” Jonathan interrupts him, his lips moving to Edward’s neck, planting soft pecks on his skin, and then getting close to his ear, licking just behind it. “You’ve earned it. You have been a very,  _ very _ good boy.”

It doesn’t really take much more than that. Just a couple of quicker, firmer strokes, and after his words, Edward cannot take it anymore.

And God, Jonathan has seen men being shot in their stomach, he has seen them hallucinating because of his fear toxin. He has seen what people can do when their brains aren’t working properly, when their emotions are so strong that they feel on the verge of collapsing. When their mind and senses cannot take it anymore so their bodies start to crumble in unison.

He holds Edward as he spasms, moaning Jonathan’s name, pulling each other closer so they both can taste it on Edward’s lips. They’re in an asylum, in which institutional (but not only) abuse happens, and patients sadly don’t have the best hygiene. With or without Edward deciding that he actually likes his taste a little bit too much. Still, in that moment, it tastes like heaven to Jonathan.

Edward’s orgasm is wet, and messy. Noisy and incoherent. Like Edward’s clever brain has completely shut down, and he is just a sobbing mess, peaking and then slowly relaxing, completely exhausted as Jonathan keeps stroking him even after he is done, just in case. A rewarding touch, wanting to extend his pleasure for as long as he can.

Edward smiles weakly, his fingers on Jonathan’s hair, playing with the locks absentmindedly, his breath uneven. There is sweat on his forehead, and he would absolutely despise it if he wasn’t more focused on Jonathan’s own face.

“You… you are handsome. So, so handsome.” Edward says, and Jonathan’s eyes widen in surprise. Edward’s ones close in exhaustion as he sighs deeply, and Jonathan knows that he is not lying. Not that he  _ can _ , not like this. He is not lying, so  _ clearly _ , Edward must be out of his mind, lost in some kind of post orgasmic bliss.

He doesn’t mention it, letting him rest for a few minutes, to catch his breath, and get his brain running again. He helps Edward to put his pants back in place, which earns him a breathless  _ thank you _ , and then he does the same with his own clothes.

He still takes the compliment to heart. He can allow himself at least this small warmth. Maybe.

Jonathan gets up and washes his hands in the small sink. He tries his best not to look at his own reflection, and just gets clean as soon as possible. A part of him wants to go back to bed more than anything, but he has something he wants to do first.

He touches the empty space under the sink, where Edward hides his pack of cigarettes, and takes one almost automatically. He knows that they are most likely being surveilled, but to be frank, with the show they have given the guards, they better let Edward smoke in peace.

“You’re an angel.” Edward says when he actually comes back to bed, and Christ, Jonathan is confused, but he says nothing about it.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead, because he might be one of the most feared villains in the city, but he is not that much of a prick.

Edward laughs as he lets the smoke out of his mouth. Jonathan is pretty sure that Edward used to be asthmatic as a kid, but he seems to be unbothered by the smoke. He just takes the ashtray from under the bed, determined not to stain the bed even a little. Which is funny, given that the sheets are definitely… not clean anymore.

“I believe that you’ll agree with me when I say… I’ll be in a way better shape and state of mind when we are out of here and we can… you know.”

Jonathan smiles devilishly at that.

“I take that you’re actually  _ eager  _ to beg a little more, then?”

Edward’s eyes shine in both anger and pride, and Jonathan knows what’s coming. He tries his best not to laugh when Edward tries to move, with little success.

“Excuse  _ you _ . You got lucky. Hell, you  _ definitely  _ cheated. I’m the Riddler. I would never, ever-”

“You would never beg, and I’m an evil scoundrel?”

“Precisely.”

Jonathan snorts at that, trying his best not to look at Edward too much. He looks handsome, even like this, a little angry, looking like shit, a cheap cigarette between his lips, no matter how much Edward swears that he hates the taste and he has an impeccable palate.

He knows the drill. Edward will get up as soon as his legs stop feeling like jelly, and he will brush his teeth until his gums bleed. He takes no offense to it, far from it. Let the man groom himself, prim and proper. He knows better than to argue about such a compulsion, especially when Edward is so tired and sensitive.

“So,” Jonathan starts, his voice sounding low. He is no longer Jon, not right now. He is more, way more. He is the Scarecrow, and he has business to do. “I get that you have something in mind, then.”

He doesn’t have to look at Edward to know that he is smiling. He reciprocates the gesture, carefully cleaning his glasses with his shirt.

“You know me, Crane,” Edward says, full of himself, like he is the smartest man in the city and Jonathan is asking about the obvious. This time, Jonathan does look at him, at his radiant smile, no matter how tired. “I always have a brilliant plan in mind, don’t I?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm korereapers literally... everywhere I think? Tumblr and twitter at least. Hmu if you want to discuss anything, respectfully.
> 
> The version of the characters? I took inspiration from here and there but I'm currently playing the Arkham games so I guess they're a partial inspiration. Idk man
> 
> Ah, also, happy Valentine's Day I guess? Is this a Valentine's fic? Technically....... I guess


End file.
